Blackthorn

by Terry Tyler

  "Why not? He's accepted the Light," I said. "Aren't you supposed to look after him?"

  "It's not that simple," he said, sitting there in this stupid floppy dress thing called a kaftan that Thora made for him, with his stupid rosemary and something-or-other tea that tastes like piss.

  "Why not?"

  "Because Jay has done wrong, and he must accept his punishment and pray to the Light for forgiveness. Aside from that, I can't be seen to have favourites; it goes against the Light's ethos of equality. I have to be impartial."

  One minute I think, yeah, maybe the Light is real, and cool, and other times I feel like standing up in church and shouting that it's all made-up.

  I wonder if my real parents would have laughed at the 'Fuck the Light' fist bump, 'cause I know Mum and Dad would shake their heads and say stuff about me always having to go my own way.

  I wish I knew what's right and what's wrong.

  Sometimes I think I don't know squat about owt.

  Oh, and guess what―Hemsley says he's offered Clem a financial incentive to let Brook sleep in her outhouse when he gets evicted from his shack. All I can say is that she'd better keep her shine under lock and key. Strikes me that he's doing a whole lot more for Jay and his dad than Perfect Ryder. Hemsley is actually pretty awesome on the quiet.

  I walk back on my own after the church gathering, 'cause my family and Laurel are yapping on about how brilliant Ryder is, and I want to say, 'he used to be, but he's a tosser these days'. When we reach Logside I don't even feel like going home, or to Mum's, so I just carry on walking, towards the wall.

  I see Byron, climbing the steps of his lookout; he jumps back down to ask me about Jay, and I tell him how pissed off I am that Ryder, who I thought was my friend, won't go and see him for me.

  Byron holds out his fist.

  "Fuck the Light."

  "Fuck the Light."

  He leans in closer. "And fuck Ryder Swift."

  I laugh out loud. "Fuck Ryder Swift!"

  We bump fists again, and suddenly I feel a whole lot better.

  Part 3

  Hiding in the Shadows

  Chapter 28

  Byron Lewis V

  I'm about to finish early shift on Lookout 9―nothing to see, as usual―when I hear a call from down below.

  Evie. Happy day. With her shorts and scruffy old boots she wears a shapeless top of the undyed, coarse linen provided to the shackers. The pale colour looks good on her, and her hair is clean and shiny.

  I concentrate on her face to stop myself leering at those smooth, tanned legs.

  "Hey!" I smile at her, and lean my arms on the barrier. "What's up?" I've seen her briefly, once or twice, in the week since I took her to see Hemsley, and each time I feel that 'thing' between us; it's good.

  Her slim, brown arm shades her eyes from the sun. "Just wondered if you'd do summat for me."

  "Name it."

  "Will you see if you can check on Jay? I don't want to ask Hemsley again, 'cause he's done so much already, but last night Cal was talking about how Fisher and that lot beat up gays, and I was awake half the night worrying." She digs in her pocket. "Look―I got a note here from his dad, 'cept it ain't really, it's from me, but I've sealed it up with candle wax―I thought you could say it's an urgent message from his dad."

  "Sure." I nip down the steps. Up close, she smells of sun and warmth, and cooking. With a hint of sweat, but it's kind of sexy in an earthy way. "I'm off in an hour; I'll go then."

  "Cheers! So you'll come find me and tell me how he is?"

  You bet. "Sure."

  Fist out. "Fuck the Light."

  "Fuck the Light."

  As we laugh, I reach out and touch the top of her arm; just the feel of her flesh against my hand does some powerful stuff to me. "I just wondered―"

  "What?"

  "Have you ever thought of leaving here? Just buggering off, I mean?"

  She sticks her hands in her pockets and nods. "Yeah. I didn't used to, but I do now. I can't go yet, though. Not while Jay's still banged up."

  Six months, then. I don't know if I'll last that long.

  She says, "You, too?"

  "Me too."

  Something about the way she smiles tells me that I might have something to look forward to, after all.

  I can do it. I can do six months.

  Even on this glorious late afternoon, the jail block is a depressing place. Situated behind a large grain store, it remains without sunlight for much of the day, so the muddy path between the two long rows of cells rarely dries out; under the domed roof it's always dank and cold.

  I find Fisher, Ham, Lynch and Munroe playing cards in their den.

  I open the door, they look up, Fisher shoots me a disinterested sneer, and four sets of eyes return to their game.

  The second lieutenants' attitude towards the guards is far worse than that of the lieutenants themselves, who keep their sneers for the seconds. I guess the relief of climbing a step on the ladder―and the fear of falling back to the rung below―means we save our scorn for those just beneath.

  I continue to be ignored, so I wait until the hand ends with Ham chucking his cards down and Munroe cackling with glee as he gathers the heap of chips towards him.

  Fisher opens a bottle of beer and, finally, acknowledges my presence.

  "What y'want, Lewis?"

  I take out Evie's note.

  "Message to give to a prisoner. Jay Field. It's from his dad."

  Silence.

  Fisher grins at Ham over the top of his bottle and says, "Leave it here."

  Something tells me that if I do, it will never reach Jay.

  "Can I see him? Just for a moment. Go on; he's been locked up nearly two weeks now, and it's hard for his dad, not knowing how he is."

  "And I should give a shit about that why, exactly?" Fisher makes a disgusting, phlegmy noise in the back of this throat, and coughs. "Anyway, he's fine."

  The warmth of this reception is no more or less than I expected, but I've made a promise.

  "Just let me see him for a minute. What's it to you?"

  He glances at Ham again. "Rules, ain't it. He's level three. No visitors."

  "You can't tell me you never bend the rules. I'll make it worth your while. Fuck's sake, man, I'm a guard, I've not come to pass him anything I shouldn't." I dig into my pocket and pull out a crown. "Is this enough?"

  Fisher looks at my hand, and snorts. "What d'you think I am, a fucking shacker?" He gestures at me with his thumb, turns to his mates and laughs. "What's he like, eh? Thinks me eyes'll light up at the sight of ten fucking chips!"

  "No insult meant." I have three more. I can ill afford to part with them, but I'll do so for Evie. "This has got to be enough."

  Again, those eye meets. Fisher picks up his bottle and drinks, a trickle of beer sliding out of the corner of his mouth and into his beard. "More than my job's worth."

  Bullshit. I know they'll ignore the rules for beer money, and four crowns will buy them plenty. What's his problem?

  "He's okay, isn't he?"

  "Why wouldn't he be?"

  "I don't know, seeing as you won't let me in."

  "Yeah, well, like I said, them's the rules." He lounges back in his chair and picks up a wad of cards, performing an impressive shuffle. "Now, will you clear off so we can get on with our game?"

  No way am I having Evie think I'm a wimp who can't stand up to Fisher's mob.

  I size up the gate. I can do it.

  Without saying another word, I nip past their shelter, jump, and hoist myself over. Good job I'm fit, because it's no mean feat; I'm vaguely aware of a bad muscle twinge in my right arm, but I'll worry about that later.

  "Oi!" shouts Fisher. "The fuck d'you think you're doing?"

  I land on the ground with a thud and hear the sound of keys against metal as I hurry down that dim, muddy passage; I peer left and right into the cells, many of which are empty; since 'the enlightenment', crime is at an all-time low.

&n
bsp; I shout, "Jay! Jay Field! Where are you?"

  Nothing. No reply. Munroe's whiny voice is behind me, complaining about the mud on his boots, and in the darkness of the cells a few men and the odd woman come forward, eager for any entertainment to break up their long days, but I don't see Jay.

  "Jay! Shout out―I've got a message for you!"

  Too late. Lynch and Munroe grab me from behind and drag me back. They're both big bastards; I'm quick and agile, but that's not much help when it's two against one.

  "Like climbing gates, do you?" says Lynch, and the pair of them lift me up, above their shoulders. "There you go. There you fucking go."

  I'm dumped over the gate like a sack of garbage, onto the hard ground.

  Fisher towers over me as Lynch and Munroe haul me up from where I lie in the dirt. "You ain't seeing him. You know the rules, and if you don't get the fuck away from here, I'll report you for trying to bribe a second lieutenant. You got that?"

  I hold my hands up. "Okay, okay, I'm going. Just get these apes off me, will you?" They let go, but I'm not finished yet. At the top of my voice, I shout: "Jay Field! Jay! Are you there? It's Byron―I've got a message for you from Evie―"

  At which point I am manhandled away. Fisher stands and watches as the other three push me down onto the ground and aim a few smart kicks to my kidneys. It hurts like hell, and I just lie there while they walk back to their den, laughing.

  What I am most aware of, though, is that when I shouted for Jay I received no answer.

  I'm honest with Evie; she's not the sort of person who needs to be protected from the truth.

  She's pacing around her little shack. "What if they've done something to him? If they've hurt him?"

  Laurel, who's sitting on her narrow bed looking as helpless as I feel, says, "You could ask Ryder to go to the jail block and check him out."

  "I've asked, and he won't."

  "Well, let's go and see him anyway―at least he could pray for him."

  Evie laughs. "Yeah, right. Fuck Ryder."

  I say, "We could ask Hemsley."

  Evie nods. "We could." Her face drops. "D'you think owt's happened? Do you think they've hurt him? He could've been lying in his cell, unconscious―"

  "Anything I say would only be a guess."

  "Well, I'm going pray for him, even if you two aren't," Laurel says, getting up. "I'm going to ask Star to start a prayer circle. Maybe if you tried actually talking to the Light now and again, Evie, instead of just saying you accept him but not acting like you do, you wouldn't be so angry all the time."

  She flounces out of the little room, and Evie and I just stand there, staring at the door―and then she bursts out laughing.

  "See what I have to put up with? D'you see?"

  We're standing so close, alone in this room, and I can't help my eyes falling on that little bed in the corner. Shame. Now is not the time.

  Down, boy.

  Chapter 29

  Lieutenant August Hemsley

  Earlier That Day

  After lunch today, I decide to pop in to Wolf's house, to see if he needs me to fetch any medication, or anything else to make his day more comfortable, after which I will go to the jail block to check on Jay Field; I have not been for a couple of days because I don't want Fisher and his men to question the frequency of my visits, but I do want to keep Evie's mind at rest.

  The guards stand aside as I approach the gate of the North house; I walk up the path but, to my surprise, I find the front door locked. I knock, but receive no answer.

  This is strange; the door is always open, so that lieutenants and Doctor Khalid may come and go with ease, when needed.

  One of the gate guards is Danny Foster, nephew of Lieutenant Foster. He is a dozy individual; I doubt he would have been granted his position were it not for his uncle.

  I go back, and ask him to open the door.

  He sniffs, clearly doubtful. "I dunno if I should, sir. Tara said the staff were given the afternoon off; there's only Mr North there."

  "Were you asked to keep it locked?"

  "No, sir. I didn't know it was. Locked, I mean."

  I feel extremely uneasy. Peach was instructed that Wolf should not be left alone in the house, especially not with the door locked. I imagine this was an error, probably on the part of Tara; a nice girl, but somewhat scatty. The thought of Wolf suffering a fall fills me with fear. However, I cannot explain this without revealing the extent of his illness to Danny.

  "I would like you to open the door for me, please."

  He looks doubtful at first, but I assert my authority, finally saying that if there is blame to be apportioned, I will assume it.

  The house is completely quiet. I call out, announcing myself, but receive no answer, which worries me further.

  A horrible thought occurs to me. Wolf, a while back, telling me that he will be in control of his own death. Surely not, not now that he lives in the Light. I think of that poor girl, Indra―

  I wait, and call again.

  And again.

  I am just deciding to investigate when the door to the Wolf's private corridor opens, and he emerges.

  "Hemsley."

  I am highly relieved to see that he looks well; he stands straight, and his face looks flushed rather than pale, as it so often is these days.

  "I'm sorry if I've interrupted you, sir―I believed the door to be locked in error, and, forgive me, but Danny told me your staff have the afternoon off and I was concerned about you being in the house alone, in case anything happened―a fall―"

  "I'm not a fucking invalid, Hemsley. Not yet, anyway." He appears ill at ease. "What d'you want?"

  I feel most awkward, but am determined not to show this.

  "I've come by to see if you need anything." I get my notebook and pen out of my pocket, ready to take instruction. "Your medication, perhaps?"

  "Oh, yes―Doctor Khalid will have a list of anything I'm running low on―get me some brandy, some weed, and some of that mint concoction, the one for my stomach. No need to come back today; it can wait till tomorrow."

  As I scribble these items down in my notebook, I assure him that it's no trouble, I can bring the items back before I go to the jail block.

  "I said there was no need."

  I look up to see him frowning, his mind clearly elsewhere. "I understand. Is there anything else, sir?"

  "No, no. Go on, off you go. Chop chop."

  I can't help feeling slightly offended by his words. Off you go. Chop chop. The sort of instruction one might give to an errand boy.

  I glance at the door to his private corridor, and thence to his library, and for some reason Jay Field's intended instruction to Lynch pops into my head. I don't realise I'm smiling until Wolf says, "Something funny, Hemsley?"

  "No―nothing, sir. I'll get these items for you and bring them over tomorrow―"

  "Yes, yes, we've already established that." He moves in front of me and opens the front door, presumably to kick me out―but when he opens it he looks as surprised as I am to see Ryder Swift standing there.

  Ryder Swift and one of the loggers: Vic. The man who stood up in the church but a couple of weeks ago to announce his enlightenment.

  Why is Ryder bringing a logger to the governor's house?

  Wolf's eyes narrow. "You're early. An hour, if I'm not mistaken. I said three o'clock."

  Ryder is all smiles, as usual. "Ah―heck, sorry, is it inconvenient? Andy from the hospital popped in this morning asking for an emergency prayer circle at four-thirty; a friend of his is seriously going through it with the booze thing, and―damn, I didn't think!" He smacks his head with the heel of his hand. "I should have, shouldn't I? There's me, not considering anyone else's schedules―my bad, right?" He turns to me. "Hey, Hemsley―sorry, are you and the governor in the middle of something?"

  "Lieutenant Hemsley is just leaving."

  I don't know why, but the whole situation feels most uncomfortable, despite Ryder's gift for putting everyone at ea
se. Vic hangs around behind him, hands in pockets.

  Ryder says, "You sure you don't want us to go away and come back again?"

  Wolf shakes his head, irritably. "No, never mind; you're here now."

  Then he jerks his head round to look at me as if I'm something nasty he's just spotted crawling up his wall, and says, "What are you still doing here, Hemsley? Go on, bugger off, will you?"

  There is a moment of awkward silence, broken by the sound of Vic the logger bursting into laughter.

  He observes the shocked look on my face, and he laughs.

  Ryder appears embarrassed on my behalf―but they walk in, and the door is slammed in my face without further acknowledgement.

  For a moment I just stand there. My governor has just spoken to me as if I am an annoying child, in front of a man I admire and a particularly troublesome shacker who, until a few weeks back, mocked the Light at every opportunity.

  A shacker who mocked me, too, yet he was invited in, while I received a dismissal more insulting than any I have ever been given, even as a schoolboy.

  Go on, bugger off, will you?

  I sense my neck glowing hot and red, always my indicator of intense agitation.

  I touch my hand to my chest, for the reassurance that only the Light can give me, but for once it doesn't work. The little scene that just occurred showed not only Vic the logger's complete lack of respect for my uniform, but also a lack of consideration from one I have served faithfully for so many years.

  I am in shock. I am hurt, and angry.

  I walk down the path, out of the gates, and head towards Doctor Khalid's. The motion is soothing, but find myself indulging in a fantasy about going back to the house and echoing Jay's words, to Wolf.

  Shove your medicine―

  My goodness. The words sound so unfamiliar to me that for a moment I am embarrassed even to be imagining such an exchange.

  Oddly, just thinking about it felt liberating.

  But of course I'll go and pick the items up, like the good, faithful lieutenant I am.